


boundless

by lesbiyawn



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Hawke and Isabela are still kinda new at the "feelings" thing, Hurt/Comfort, based on in-game dialogue, but you know they both L-word each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiyawn/pseuds/lesbiyawn
Summary: "A token of our appreciation."Velasco's smile is decidedly vile. Three coins are dropped into Hawke's palm."It's more than she's worth."Hawke wants nothing more than to drop Velasco to his knees, kick in his teeth, and tear into him. But Varric and Anders are standing at the door and Isabela is being dragged out at knife point and this all going to plan. So she bites her tongue and slips the three gold into her pocket, trying to ignore how heavy it suddenly feels.Or, Hawke has strong feelings about Isabela's worth.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Isabela
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	boundless

Three coins sit flat against Hawke’s desk. She’s enraptured by one in particular. The gold is worn with age, soot and dirt fill its edges and valleys. The coin’s face displays the bust of a shrouded man. Grooves frame the man’s face, cast to the West. A crow is perched upon his shoulder and twin blades intersect below his chest. His eyes are closed but a grin sits upon his lips. 

So intent on the visage, Hawke misses the sound of footsteps ascending the staircase, making their approach towards her bedroom. She is torn from her reverie with a knock on the doorframe and glances up to spy Isabela’s grinning face. 

“Might I come in?” She asks, not waiting for an answer and gliding across the threshold. She bends down to give The Admiral a quick scratch behind the ears - too short for him as he gives her a huff as she pulls away; Isabela responds with a roll of her eyes and a huff of her own. “You’re almost as needy as your owner, old boy.” 

“Awfully rich coming from you,” Hawke tosses at her. Isabela laughs, giving her shoulder a shove.

She drapes herself over Hawke briefly, her earrings cool against Hawke’s exposed neck as Isabela leans in to nibble on her ear lobe. She pulls back and ruffles Hawke’s hair, scratching at her scalp and ruining her perfectly combed bangs. With a laugh, she places herself atop the desk, teasing Hawke’s side with the tip of her boot. She drums her fingers along the wood and Hawke watches her eyes stray from her own bedraggled hair to the gold pieces on display before them.

“Oh! What do we have here?” She asks, picking up the coin Hawke had been eyeing. She traces the figure with the pads of her thumb. “Do you know what this is?”

“I’d wager a gold coin, if I was a betting woman.”

Isabela scoffs. “Ass.”

Hawke leans forward and says, “But no, I don’t. I’ve never seen a coin like that. Care to enlighten me?” 

“I figured you hadn’t, you poor sheltered Fereldan,” Isabela shoots her a grin. “It’s an andris. Antivan money.” 

“I’m surprised it’s not bloodier then,” Hawke says. 

Isabela giggles. “Oh I’m sure the gold for this coin was melted down from a tooth pulled from some rotting mouth.”

“Gold tooth?” Hawke tilts her head. “Pirates?”

“Pirates.”

“I take it you and andris are well acquainted?” 

Hawke hopes her words are enough to coax a story out of Isabela. She enjoys being the guinea pig for Isabela's stories as she toys with which extravagant details to pepper in. She’s watched and listened as ten armed men have turned into a horde of golems, the entire city-guard of Wycome, and exactly thirty seven maleficarum - (Isabela is insistent on that exact number, Hawke’s counted); as a merchant’s adventurous and rebellious daughter with quick hands and even quicker fingers became the Queen of Antiva’s sister, twice removed - (Isabela loves dropping that detail because she knows the howl of laughter it pulls from Hawke); as the normal night of drunken debauchery was enhanced with a prophetic vision from the Maker himself, commanding Isabela to spread the good word and her legs - (Hawke knows she stole the idea for this detail from a particular scumbag in Darktown that they caught trying to grope a girl passing him by. His rights over the idea were quickly dissolved by a blade in the throat).

Her true favorites, though, are the ones Isabela shares quietly in the lapses of silence between them. The ones uttered out quietly with a carefully crafted monotone voice to hide any wavering as she speaks. The glimpses into Isabela - the true Isabela - that she risks showing for only a brief moment, and only to Hawke. 

Hawke treasures those stories more than any of the gold she could ever own. 

“Almost as well as I know the sea.” Isabela hums and spins the coin around between her fingers, showing Hawke the tail side: a lavish city street. “This is the Boulevard of the Seas. The coin can’t show you how elaborate and beautiful the tiles are. They’re turquoise and sea-green, hence the name.” There is a shift in Isabela’s voice as she continues, an almost imperceptible change if Hawke didn’t know her so well. “I had a perfect view of the street from my room in Luis’s estate. I would look out at sunset, when the light would hit the tiles at just the right angle to make them shimmer like the most breathtaking waves. In my dreams I stole his ship and sailed across them.” 

Hawke nods along, mainly focusing on the distant look in Isabela’s eyes as she speaks. Isabela blinks and the look is gone. She quickly flips the coin over.

“One guess as to who this is supposed to be.” 

Hawke snorts. “A Crow?”

“So maybe not completely sheltered then,” Isabela says and Hawke pushes down the feeling of warmth that rises in her as she spots what suspiciously looks like pride in Isabela’s eyes. 

“Not exactly a hard guess,” Hawke says. “Subtlety doesn’t exactly sound like the Antivan way.” 

Isabela hums out a laugh. “It certainly isn’t.”

“Is that any Crow in particular?” 

“Guildmaster Onorato, apparently.” 

“Apparently?” 

“Despite their flair, the Crows are still an assassin order. They aren’t exactly forthcoming with information on their most high-ranking members,” Isabela spins the coin around and takes a long look at the bust. “Onorato - if that even was his name - is believed to have led the Crows during the assassination of Queen Madrigal at the end of the Exalted Age. They found her with four steel swords plunged into her chest and Thedas decided the next hundred years would be named the Steel Age. Their association to her death is only speculation but the Crows certainly take pride in their work being used to coin the next Age. Hah. _Coin_.

“Traditionally, whenever a new monarch was put on the andris, the direction they faced was the inverse of whatever ruler preceded them. Sometimes that was the only way the peasantry knew they had a new ruler, though I doubt many of them got a good look at gold coins often. But Antiva stopped putting monarchs on their coins a long time ago. By the time a new coin was created, the monarch it depicted would have already been found face down in their food with a blade in their back or poison in their chalice. Sometimes both. So instead, the mints started placing famous guild leaders on the face side. They tended to survive at least a decade longer. 

“The new guild leaders always faced eastwards - towards new horizons and the future. Except for Onorato here. He’s the only one wise enough to watch his back.” 

Hawke admires the smile on Isabela’s lips as she speaks and feels warmth bloom in her chest. “Huh.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just. . .” Hawke smiles. “Sometimes I forget how smart you are.” 

Isabela doesn’t flush - Hawke’s sure she’s never seen her flush - but she does avert her eyes to the floor for a moment. It passes as she clears her throat. “Yes, well, we’ll just chalk this one up to taking an Antivan Crow as a lover.”

“Ah, if all your knowledge comes from pillow talk that would explain it.” 

Isabela visibly relaxes and lets out a laugh. “Mm. I could tell you all about the art of tattooing, darkspawn-slaying, and sword-swallowing - both kinds. Oh! And breadmaking.” 

Hawke can’t help but laugh. “Breadmaking? Really?” 

“I was hoping you’d ask about the sword-swallowing. I have so many more innuendos in me.”

“I’ll pass for now.”

“Your loss.” Isabela begins rolling the coin across her knuckles and Hawke is hit with an entirely new wave of attraction for the woman before her. 

She looks between the other two coins on the table and Hawke. “Where did you get these? I’ve been mostly dealing in sovereigns and royals in Kirkwall. I haven’t seen an andris in some time.” 

Hawke feels a lump in her throat as she swallows and attempts to change the subject. “By dealing you mean cheating your friends out of their hard earned coin in Wicked Grace? Including me?” 

“That wouldn’t be a problem if you took me up on my offer of strip Wicked Grace! No hurt purses there.”

“No, just wounded pride.” 

“You’d recover, sweet thing,” Isabela pats Hawke on the cheek, her words accompanied by a sly smirk. “Now, care to tell me where I might fetch some andris of my own? It’d make a pretty girl happy, Hawke.” 

“It. . .I think I found it on one of Castillon’s men.” 

Isabela quirks an eyebrow. “Hmm. Funny. I don’t recall finding any and we both know how talented I am at rifling through pockets.” 

“There wasn’t much,” Hawke knows her lies are flimsy as soon as they leave her mouth. “I barely even noticed they were different from the rest.” 

Hawke knows Isabela can be incredibly difficult to read. Hawke can recognize the slight lift of the chin and the subtle lowering of the brows as skepticism, but as for what lies beyond her amber eyes, Hawke is as blind as any fool. 

“It might not be much but we can still put it to good use. You can take me to the Hightown market and treat me to some new fabric for my ship.” She rises off the desk with the coin still in her hand. “I’ve been meaning to replace that ugly mustard satin with royal purple.”

“No!” Hawke reaches for Isabela’s wrist - too slow. Isabela pulls her hand back quickly and Hawke is left with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. 

“Since when are you possessive over coin like this? I skimmed twenty gold off our job last month and you didn’t even bat an eye.” 

“Is that where that money went? I swore that merchant had cheated me.” 

“Don’t try and distract me again, Hawke.” Isabela crosses her arms but still holds up the andris. “Where did you get this? Honestly?”

“I. . . It came from Velasco.” 

Isabela’s head jerks back. “Velasco?” 

“After I handed you over to him. His men were dragging you out and he gave it to me as some bounty reward, I guess. Said. . .no, nevermind.” 

“Said what, Hawke?” 

“I shouldn’t have-,”

“But you did, so tell me, Hawke.”

“He said it was more than you were worth.” 

Hawke watches something flash in Isabela’s eyes as she soaks in her words, looks down to the three measly andris and does the math - something that makes Hawke’s chest ache. Isabela blinks. Then she swallows. Then she tosses the coin back onto the desk, watching it bound and spin before landing face up, stupid grinning Crow on display. 

She hears Isabela speak under her breath, words laced with something fierce and pained, “See that Hari? You could’ve gotten three andris for me.” 

She turns to Hawke, eyes glossed over and flares her nostrils. “So why exactly have you held onto them?” 

Hawke rises from her chair. “Because, Bela, I. . . These coins have been weighing my pockets down ever since that night. And I couldn’t spend them because that would be making them real. It would make that trade with Velasco _real_. I’d be validating that prick and his words. These coins are shit and I don’t want them. You understand? I don’t want them.” She puts her hands around Isabela’s shoulders and squeezes. She meets Isabela’s eyes, says, “And they could never ‘buy’ you, Bela.” 

Isabela stares at her, biting her lip and eyes darting around the room as they grow foggier. And so Hawke launches herself at Isabela, engulfing her in a hug. She squeezes tight, burrowing her face into Isabela’s curls. She tilts her head towards her ear, making sure Isabela can hear her next words crystal clear. 

“Isabela. You are priceless.” 

She feels the body in her arms wrack with sudden sobs and she holds her tighter. Minutes pass them by as they stay there - Isabela crumpled against her, Hawke cradling her and pressing soft kisses into her hair. 

“Priceless, Bela,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to Isabela’s temple. “No gold could ever be worth you.” 

Isabela’s eyelashes tickle her neck. A watery laugh escapes her. “You’re terrible with coin, Hawke.” 

“Maybe,” she says, words choked up in her throat. “But I’m right about this. And no matter how long it takes, I’m going to make you believe me.” 

Isabela sniffles loudly, untangling herself from Hawke. She haphazardly wipes at her face, covering it as best she can. Hawke cradles her cheek, wipes the stray tears, and forces their eyes to meet. Isabela looks two seconds away from dashing out of her reach, but she stays. That’s enough for Hawke. 

She steps back and allows Isabela a moment to breathe, turning back towards the desk. She picks up a different coin, thumbing the edges. This one depicts a man with an impressive beard, a mallet and chisel crossed beneath his neck. The coins that felt like lead in her pockets mere days ago suddenly feel so slight and smooth. 

“What are you planning on doing with them?” Isabela says after a moment, sidling up to Hawke. 

“Hm.” Hawke flips the coin over. A tall, multi-tiered fountain is ingrained into the gold with spouts of water spilling into its basin. She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “I think I have an idea.” 

“Care to share?” 

“In due time. Let me get dressed. We’re going to the docks.” 

* * *

  
  


Workday coming to an end, a stillness befalls the quay. The sun sits just above the horizon, hovering above the waves. Every so often it is eclipsed by one of the docked ships rocking with the tide. The Gallows remains a blight in the distance, but Hawke averts her eyes to keep any boiling anger at bay. She and Isabela pass by a man attempting to cast a line into the water, despite the fine sheen sitting atop it. They both raise their eyebrows at him and continue their walk.

Hawke lets Isabela prop herself up on a bit of stray cargo and admire her ship rising and falling to the sea’s beckon. Hawke lets herself admire it too, thoughts drifting off to images of her at the mast and Isabela at the helm, adorned in a flowing coat and one of the stupidly opulent hats she delights in. 

Satisfied with their daydreaming, Hawke guides them towards the steps leading into the water. 

“Will you finally tell me what we’re here for?” Isabela asks, glancing around. “The walk was lovely, Hawke, but the suspense is killing me.” 

“So impatient,” Hawke teases, plopping herself down, toes a few feet from where the water laps at the steps. “Come, take a seat.” 

Isabela huffs and obliges, making no effort to hide her small smile as Hawke’s pinky finger drifts across her hand. 

Hawke pulls the andris from her pouch and drops them on the step between them. 

“My mother had caprice coins,” Hawke begins, “I asked her about them one day when she had given me a handful of coins to spend on groceries. I had tried to buy potatoes or leather scraps or some other thing. The man at the stall had laughed when I handed him one of her caprice coins. When I came home, she told me they came from her old life. She said that the nobles had picked it up from the Orlesians. They would toss these gold coins to flaunt their status. The more you could throw away, the wealthier you must be.

“I remember her telling me about Burgess Pugh. He was some lower noble with ‘less wits than an ass with a brain tumor.’ He had gotten overzealous in boasting his wealth and had emptied nearly a third of his family’s fortune into that fountain. He spent the next week drenched from head to toe trying to scrounge up coins. The guards refused to intervene, some even tossing more coins in to watch him flop like a fish to catch them. My mother said even the beggars were laughing their asses off at him.” Hawke smiles, remembering how much she and her mother had laughed at the story. 

“She gave me one to toss into the village’s well. I told her it didn’t make sense, we didn’t have any wealth to flaunt. Then she told me I should use it to make a wish.” Hawke picks up one of the andris and spins it between her fingers. “She told me to press my lips to the coin, whisper my wish, and cast it into the well. I wouldn’t be flaunting my wealth; I’d be showing that I had something valuable to give, and that I was willing to give it up so that even better things might come my way. Like she had for my father.” 

Looking up from the coin, Hawke sees she has Isabela’s undivided attention. 

“They aren’t caprices and Kirkwall’s harbor certainly isn’t an ornate Orlesian fountain or a shoddy cobble well but we make do,” she pushes an andris towards Isabela. “Go on. Pick it up.” 

Isabela reaches down and grabs the andris, fingers skirting around the flecks of dirt and soot. “I’m going to put my mouth to this thing?” 

“Like you haven’t put your mouth on worse things.” 

Isabela scoffs. “I want to smack you but I set myself up for that one. Also, you’re right.” 

Hawke closes her eyes and brings the andris to her lips, whispering her wish into the gold. She opens her eyes and brings her arm back to skim the coin across the water. It’s a poor throw, Hawke knows it as soon as she releases, and the coin falls into the water with a single loud plop. Isabela giggles beside her. 

“Oh shut it. Make your wish.” 

She watches Isabela’s eyes flutter shut as she presses the coin against her mouth. Hawke can’t read her lips and her words are too soft to be caught by her ears. When Isabela opens her eyes, she stares at the coin for a second, lets out a deep breath, and flicks her wrist. The coin shoots out and likely would have bounced a few times if it wasn’t for a rolling wave swallowing it whole. Isabela throws her head back and groans. 

“This feels like a bad omen to me, Hawke,” Isabela says, eyeing the last andris. “Maybe we _should_ set this last one aside for a rainy day. You could buy one of those blueberry tarts you know I love. I’d even be willing to share.” 

“I know you, Bela. I’d be lucky if you spared me a single blueberry.” 

Isabela laughs and leans into Hawke, bumping her shoulder. 

Hawke picks up the last coin. She takes Isabela’s hand and places it over hers. “Let’s make this last one together.” She brings the coin up between them. They press their foreheads together, their eyes drift close, and they speak their future into the coin. 

They pull back and smile at each other. Hawke lets Isabela take the coin into her hand and moves behind her, sliding her hand alongside Isabela’s. They both grab hold of the coin and pull back. 

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

They release the coin, watching it sail across the water and bounce once in a clean arc. It bounces again, and again, and again, skimming across the waves. When the coin does finally sink into the depths below, it has already tread a path into the horizon. 

“That was a lot better,” Hawke says, dropping her chin onto Isabela’s shoulder. 

“I might not get those brand new boots I wished for,” Isabela huffs, but meets Hawke’s eyes and smiles. “But I suppose I’ve gotten something better.” 

Hawke laughs and presses a kiss to Isabela’s dark, freckled skin. “Fine. I’ll buy you new boots.” 

Isabela grins from ear to ear. “Oh I’ve gotten myself something _much_ better.” She grasps the back of Hawke’s neck and pulls her in for a searing kiss. 

In half an hour, Hawke and Isabela will be caught indecently exposed by a guardsman in a back alley and will have to talk their way out an arrest before bolting to the Hanged Man when his back is turned. But right now, sitting on the stairs with the waves at their feet and the setting sun to their backs, it’s just the two of them, together. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was replaying Dragon Age 2 and Velasco's line just stuck out to me so much. I couldn't stop thinking about it for days. It hurts to think about how poor Isabela's self-worth is.


End file.
